


Only You Can Cool My Desire

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Desire, F/F, Internal Conflict, Lust, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 05:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15284571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: Anne can't stop thinking about the night on the rocks, or what happened afterwards in Eleanor Guthrie's bedroom.





	Only You Can Cool My Desire

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow-up to my Anne/Eleanor fic 'On Fire' but you don't have to read that first. All you need to know is that Anne and Eleanor had angry sex after Anne killed all the pirates on the rocks, and now Anne can't stop thinking about it.

 

Anne paces in her room. The afternoon is too hot. The rum is gone. She's stuck here waiting until Jack gets back but she's tired of waiting.

 She wants...

She wants more. She wants more of what she had, but since she can't kill another slew of men out on the rocks, she'd settle for being with Eleanor Guthrie again. Eleanor bloody Guthrie of all women. Shouldn't make her blood race like this, shouldn't make her legs tremble, or her fingers desperate to touch her. Anne thinks about touching her, and her mind drifts. Just in moments like this. Just when she's...

Not weak, no, it's not weak. It's hunger. A hunger that nothing else will satisfy but  _her_. You need to keep your strength up. That's not weakness. It's sensible.

With this course of reasoning, Anne finds herself once more on the veranda outside Eleanor Guthrie's apartments. There’s a light in the window and she pauses outside the window to peer through the shutters, not knowing what she hopes to find. Maybe just a glimpse of Eleanor will do.

Eleanor’s pacing across the room, talking to someone. Her hair’s piled up on top of her head and Anne’s fingers itch to tug it down, and run her fingers through it, to pull Eleanor’s breast open and leave fresh marks upon that pale perfection.

Just then Eleanor slams the door open and watches the man exiting the room retreat down the stairs. "Tell him he'll have to come himself if he wants to seek my pardon. Tell him he'd better fucking crawl."

Anne flattens herself against the wall as Burke, one of Vane's men slinks away. If he had seen her, if anyone knew she was here, she’d be dead.  Oh christ, what Vane would do to her if he caught her, if he knew she’d been between Eleanor’s thighs even once, and was seeking her cunt again. This was a mistake. She starts to slip away just as Eleanor turns to go back inside and catches sight of her.

"You." Eleanor scowls. "What are you doing here?"

"What'd he want?" Anne asks instead of answering, jerking her head in the direction of Burke.

"Your captain seeks peace with me." Eleanor sneers. "have you come in his name too, pleading his case?"

"No." Anne says, short and sweet. She has not come in his name. She’d forgotten, briefly, that Vane had cause to be obsessed with Eleanor.

Eleanor pauses, looking at her closely. "Why have you come then?"

'I..." She's caught off-guard by the directness. Why does she have to answer that? Can't Eleanor just look at her and know? Can't she tell with a single glance? Has she not hungered as Anne has since they first met? Did that night of spilling blood and sharing skin mean nothing to her? Suppose it meant nothing, suppose…

"Oh." Eleanor says abruptly. She looks down the hall and then steps back, gesturing at the door. "Come in."

"I should go." Anne makes as though to leave. but her boots instead follow Eleanor, walking past her into her room. She sweeps the hat from her head and looks at Eleanor, biting her lip.

Once inside Eleanor closes the door and locks it. "It’s the..the other night, I mean."

"Yes." Anne's skin is hot. She wants to reach for her. She wants to run. the room is too warm. She's sweating.

"I've been thinking of that as well." Eleanor says softly. She looks at Anne and reaches for the laces of her blouse, starting to pull it open. 

"No," Anne says. 

"No?" Eleanor's hands falter. “Don’t you want?”

"I mean....let me?" Anne doesn't know where it comes from, how she dares to ask such a thing. But Eleanor nods and lets her hands fall and Anne steps forward, reaching for her, loosing the laces, letting the blouse fall away from Eleanor’s shoulders, revealing her half nude to the afternoon sun.

She lets her fingers trace over Eleanor's breasts, tracing the trickling beads of sweat there. Eleanor's pulse quickens and then she leans in, pursuing Anne's mouth. 

Anne didn't expect this, doesn't know what to make of this, but the way Eleanor kisses her, the way her hands slip into the folds of Anne's clothing, the way she touches Anne, the way she  _knows_  Anne is startling and unexpected and  _good_. It's not, she thinks, it's just a body, She knows a body. Eleanor’s touched women before, and maybe that's it, Anne is just another woman under Eleanor's hands. But it feels like more, it feels like there's purpose and reverence and desire, all things Anne wasn't aware she even wanted, but now she's known them and she wants, oh she wants them. 

That's the heart of it, she thinks as they fall back upon the bed and Eleanor's tangled in her skirts. Eleanor makes her want, and she didn't know she was capable of the wanting. Now it's been lit inside her like a beacon and she can't stop it from bursting out of her. 

Anne gasps as Eleanor touches her, remembering how she refused to make a sound last time until Eleanor coaxed and willed it out of her. Today she is shameless in her noise and doesn't care who knows it. There is only Eleanor and her in this room after all. No one else to know their secrets. Their hands mingle, their hair tangles and their mouths whisper and croon their desire again and again.

Afterwards Anne lies on her back, sweat cooling on her slim breasts. Eleanor's hand rests on her thigh. It's too close, too intimate. She should move away. She should go. But the room is almost pleasant in the summer air. Anne knows this is a false security but for a moment she lets herself wonder what it would be like to have this with someone. To share a room and know it to be safe. 

She has something like that with Jack, but it's not the same. She wants more of this, she wants someone who knows her inside and out, through thick and thin, the sweet bounties and the lean times. Anne closes her eyes, and for a moment lets herself dream of such a partnership.

Then she shakes it off. She’s not a fool. She knows she’s lucky to be with Jack, and the Ranger is as good a ship as any, and if the nights in her hammock are getting harder to fall asleep, well, that’s no matter. It’s just another day in the end.

Anne’s good at getting on business. It’s no matter to leave this dream in the sheets of Eleanor Guthrie’s bed. She pulls on her clothes, adjusts her hat and goes out to meet the coming night.


End file.
